


Good Days and Bad Days

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blow Job, Drinking, Guilt, Hand Job, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, post-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: Thomas finds James drunk outside a tavern. It is not the first time.----Because James *needs* Thomas. I guess this could be a reference to Flint in Treasure Island canon, but ultimately of course TI can (still) suck it. :)





	Good Days and Bad Days

He sits in the mud outside the tavern when Thomas arrives.

The evening had turned dark and rainy, cooling the air enough to warrant the chill Thomas feels as he dismounts his mare and trudges through the mud to James. James, who sits staring at nothing in particular, eyes glazed over and still clutching a decanter in his hand.

He raises his head as Thomas approaches. Thomas’s chest contracts painfully at the misery he sees.

There were good days and there were bad days. This was clearly the latter.

He squats down and rests a hand on James’s shoulder. It’s cold and damp. He measures carefully the tone of his voice before speaking.

“What was it this time?” he asks, when he is ready.

James gives a careless shrug and tosses back more of the liquor.

“A table, I think.”

“A table?”

“Went to get this,” he says like molasses, raising the decanter in his hand, “Came back to my table and an asshole sitting there.”

He stops suddenly, crestfallen as he stares at the ground again, but Thomas can ascertain the rest of the story easily enough. He closes his eyes and lets the air drain from his lungs. He tugs on James’s coat.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

It is not the first time he has to contend with James’s drunken weight, which is a sustainable mass of muscle even when he is sober. Yet he is a remarkably capable drunk. Mostly. He staggers once before leaning his weight onto Thomas, who crooks an arm around his waist and helps him to the horse.

James grips him tightly as they rode back to the house together, so tightly Thomas thinks he might have been mistaken about how drunk James was. Rather it could be whatever sorrow has overtaken him that causes his grip to seem so desperate. His chest constricts again.

They arrive safely and James drags his feet inside. He pauses and leans against the doorway in front of Thomas. Though Thomas cannot see his face, James seems momentarily lost. Thomas gently touches his back and feels muscles startle ever so slightly under his touch.

In better light now Thomas inspects the bloodied and cut knuckles of his left hand and the split on his upper lip. James’s tongue peeks out and brushes the tip of Thomas’s thumb before he turns and slumps into a chair.

“I’ll make some tea,” says Thomas.

He busies himself with tea until James speaks again. His jaw slowly tightens, hands stilling, at his words.

“I should have checked to see if you were alive,” said James, voice like thin glass falling through the air. “If I’d done that after Peter’s letter…”

Thomas’s eyes slide closed, then burn hot as he reopens them and turns around.

“If I’d done that,” James continues in a louder voice, “I would’ve been able to stop, I think. Even if I couldn’t get to you. I’d know…I’d know at least you were still alive and I could have…stopped myself from—”

Thomas moves to clutch the back of the chair beside James.

“Hush.”

But James is facing away from him, shaking his head. Thomas can make out the lump in his throat as he swallows.

“People didn’t have to die,” says James, voice ready to shatter. “Completely innocent people who didn’t do anything to deserve what I did to them...”

“I forbid you from continuing,” Thomas blurts out, unable to hold onto his frustration and the mild terror at the black thing inside James’s chest.

James seems to sag down into the chair like an old sac. Thomas moves to him and gently tugs on his arms. He forces down the stones in his own throat.

Of course he himself had been angry, so angry, over the years. Angry at different things and for different reasons. Yet at each sunset he now witnessed, those differences coalesced into anger at the same thing. It was James’s anger as well, yet while Thomas had been able to let the worst of it go, James had not.

“Up. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

James hesitates, body leaning forward but not rising. Thomas squeezes just under his arm and James lifts. The chair creaks in the wake of his body. Once in the bedroom Thomas undresses him down to his breeches. His skin is cold all over.

“Get under everything,” Thomas mumbles as James drags himself into the bed. Thomas pulls a thick blanket up around him. Then he steps outside the room and presses himself tightly against the wall to rid himself of a few errant tears. He lets out several shaky breaths, steadying himself. When he is ready he comes back inside, undresses, and climbs in next to James.

James’s eyes are drowsy slits. Thomas touches a palm to the side of James’s face, caressing it and moving in to touch his lips to James’s. A rumble comes from James’s throat. His lips just manage to form a kiss. His hand comes up to Thomas’s face. A sigh escapes him and then his eyes close.

Thomas gazes at him for long minutes afterward.

*

It is sometime before daybreak when Thomas stirs away from the sandman. There is movement. He lets his eyes adjust and rolls over. James is awake and his breeches are down past his thighs. His hand pulls over his engorged cock. He looks at Thomas as Thomas turns. Despite the darkness Thomas sees that even though his eyes are lidded, they are clear from the haze of drink. But they are sorrowful. James bites down on his bottom lip and Thomas inhales sharply.

Full of an irrepressible desire to offer comfort, Thomas takes off his breeches and climbs on top of James. James’s head leaves the pillow and a hand comes behind Thomas’s neck, forcing their lips into a hard kiss. They both moan in their throats. Thomas takes hold of James’s cock, completely pushing James’s hand away. He fists him tightly and pulls up slowly, thumb catching on the edge of his head so that James arches up against him, eyes closing.

Their lips clash over and over. Thomas ruts into James’s belly with his cock and James responds, pushing himself up and sliding against Thomas’s cock.

Thomas kisses and sucks hard on the sensitive skin of James’s neck. James leans out of the way to give him access. His hands come up to roam all over Thomas’s back and to squeeze the mounds of his ass. Thomas pumps James’s cock faster.

“You are not a monster,” he breathes into James’s neck. “You are the man whom I love, you hear me?”

James let out a broken noise and begins to fuck himself into Thomas’s closed fist. Thomas watches him, taking in James’s flushed and sweating skin and how the veins ran down his neck so perfectly, pulsing against his skin with his effort.

Thomas slides down to James’s thighs. He wraps his mouth down over the slick and plump head of James’s cock and sucks. His hand twists James’s shaft.

James lets out low moan after moan, breathing loudly. His hips roll themselves into Thomas’s touch with more intensity. Thomas removes his hand and opens his mouth wider, bracing himself stiffly. He wants James to have him as much as he needs tonight, to work hot molten anger into something that will harden and cool.

James immediately takes his head in both hands and fucks hard inside Thomas. He curses softly. Thomas opens his throat, not caring that he cannot swallow with the thickness of the cock inside him. His spit further slickens James’s cock until James comes with a yell. Thomas relishes the fingers that cling to his short hair almost painfully as gush after gush of warm anger enters his mouth.

Moments later his lips are against James’s again, letting James taste his own honey. They shift and make themselves more comfortable after. Thomas lifts off of James, his own come smeared onto their bellies. They clean and James spoons himself to Thomas’s back. He threads his arms through Thomas’s. Soft lips press to his shoulder blade. When he at last speaks his voice is delicate and heartfelt and perhaps a little ashamed.

“More precious than gold,” he mutters into Thomas’s ear. His arms squeeze Thomas tightly.

Thomas’s heart jumps a little. Amazing, how his frustration can be dissolved with only a few words, how James makes him feel important and wanted, as all humans should and not as he’s been treated for so many years.

His work would never be done, he knows, because James’s sorrow would never be done. But that was all right, because there were plenty more days ahead.

There were good days and there were bad days. Tomorrow would be the former.

***


End file.
